The Rainbow Fairies by Bridh Hancock

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The Rainbow Fairies

 

As I thought that I should die from

Eating what ain’t food for me,

I thought I saw, out through the window,

A rainbow there for me to see.

 

Now, rainbows bless, with mystic colours,

Evening skies quite magically;

Arching all the way up and over

From here to there — where that may be.

 

But this was quite another rainbow

Beckoning me to come outside.

How it sparkled in sequined splendor!

I saw Fairies down it slide.

 

Then they flew up, vanishing skyward —

This as only Fairies might. —

Oh, such beauty! — razzling! dazzling! —

Extra-squisite!?What a sight!

 

The rainbow plonked down in our garden,

Out the back and down the yard,

Awesoming the veggie-patch

Of radish, cabbage (Yuck!) and chard.

 

I, alone in all the world,

Stopped to stare where, in the mud,

This singularly special, riveting rainbow

Quite transformed our humble spud.

 

Fairies in twenty different colours

There did spin and dance and sing,

And, having caught my startled attention,

Pointed with finger, toe, and wing

 

To where grew artichokes, Brussels sprouts,

Caulis and (Blagh! No-thanks!) Broad beans,

Then shouted with the voice of parents,

“Do as you’re told and eat your greens!

Yes, all your veggies and greens!”

Bridh Hancock

Praying Mantis by Helen Hagemann

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Praying Mantis

From inside the house
the praying mantis looks like

a caught twig, a small gesture
of wood rocking on wire.

Up close, it draws you in and
outdoors, its pencil-spine a cloudy

grey. Grey as the litany of squares
she hugs. The most interesting thing

is the way she carries her colours
to meld or disappear into fabric,

cottage wall, or branch. Tomorrow
she may be yellow, pink, or green

depending on the plot-size of garden
or unattended window, the parallel

lines of wire-mesh giving just the
slightest hint of stick, of leaf.

 Helen Hagemann

 

Things That Go Pop by Allan Cropper

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THINGS THAT GO POP

 

Balloons make the loudest pop

They pop so loud that people stop

POP!

 

Bubbles make the softest pop

Hardly worth the trouble

pop!

 

But bubble wrap is clearly tops

When it comes to making pops

It goes on like it never stops

pop pop pop pop pop pop pop

pop pop pop pop pop pop pop!

Allan Cropper

The Penguisaur by Stephen Whiteside

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The Penguisaur

 

The penguisaur lived long ago, but only way down south.

It had long rows of ugly teeth arranged within its mouth.

It lived in crowds upon the ice, and swam for food each day,

And when it dived it threw behind a mighty spume of spray.

 

It waddled when it walked because its legs were short and stumpy.

It looked quite cute, but don’t be fooled. Its mood was often grumpy.

It liked to feed on killer whales, and humpback whales as well,

And wayward tortoises, because they have a crunchy shell.

 

It specially liked to guzzle blood that flowed from meat fresh killed,

And grew extremely angry if too much of it was spilled.

It opened wide its vicious teeth, and gave a mighty roar,

While blood formed clots upon the feathers of the penguisaur

 

Its snowy chest was fast defaced by blood and gore and guts.

Mark my word – it was a fearsome beast, no ifs or buts.

When chewing gobs of whale, a crazed look came into its eye.

Its feathers were ten metres long, yet still it couldn’t fly.

 

Half of it was dinosaur, and half was flightless bird,

But of it, in the text books, you will never read a word.

That’s because its fossiled forms are trapped beneath the ice,

And searching for such evidence is never very nice.

 

Maybe somewhere out among the broad Antarctic chill,

A penguisaur, snap frozen and intact, is lying still.

Perhaps one day a scientist will thaw its body out,

And it will grab him in its jaw, and shake him inside out!

 

 ©   Stephen Whiteside  

Nora by Anna Jacobson

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Nora

I found her at school one day, hidden

under one of the classrooms. I climbed

in after her and she let me stroke

her fur. I carried her into the light

and her shadow stretched

across the grass.

 

Her owners were relieved.

She’d been missing three weeks.

They came to pick her up

and as I let her go, I imagined a cat

of my own. A cat called Nora.

Anna Jacobson 

Lost by Jenny Erlanger

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Lost

 

The water beneath us is surging,

the thunder’s creating a din.

and swiftly a sense is emerging

of just what a pickle I’m in.

All hope of a rescue is shrinking,

I’m such a long way from the shore.

I’m trapped on a ship that is sinking

and teeming with pirates galore,

with villains who thirst for a killing,

who’d slice you apart with a hook.

I’m finding this ever so thrilling!

I love getting lost in a book.

Jenny Erlanger

Waiting … by Angelique Brandt

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Waiting…

Waiting is the hardest part
Wondering if it’s going to start
Wondering what will be
Wondering if he will be there for me
Sleepless nights
Have to hold on tight
Don’t know what is going to happen
Hope it will be alright
The road to the hospital is long
But you have to stay strong
Seeing him lying there
Everything seems bare
Then everything is okay
And I can breathe again
And the weight is off my shoulders
And the sun is shining again
And he is there for me
Like he said he would be.

Angelique Brandt (age 14)

How to Recognise a Poem by Liana Joy Christensen

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How to Recognise a Poem (Your Own)

 

You know

when you walk on a bush track at noon

the birds are hushed by heat

but down near your feet leaves rustle

and you smile to yourself

because another creature is near

it’s like that

 

You know

when you feel grumpy for days

nothing’s right and you don’t know why

then it shifts and fat drops of rain

kiss the dust on the pavement

the air is alive with possibilities

just before the water roars down

it’s like that

 

You know

when you get an ear worm

three or more words together

that tease you so much

you can’t get them out of your head

Sometimes it lasts for years

it’s like that

 

You know

when you ride barefoot in winter

and your feet slip off the pedals

and you stub your toes

the pain takes your breath away

it’s like that

 

You know

when your old best friend tells

their new best friend

your deepest, secret shame

and now everyone knows

Then, a universe away,

the cold coal of rage

becomes a diamond rhyme

it’s like that

 

You know

when you wake up from a dream

so luminous you rush to catch it

and though it slips through your net of words

the moth dust left behind on the mesh

glows softly for years to come

it’s like that

 

You know it’s like that

You know it’s like that

You know it’s like that

don’t you?

Liana Joy Christensen

(Originally published in the US by Cicada, Vol 14, no 3, 2011 and later republished in Fremantle Press Performance Poets, 2013)